


(let me) light your candle

by annasotropy



Series: take me down to the paradise haunted house [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, No Beta, haunted house au, luke is an idiot and din is a good dad, mentions of a bad childhood, mostly crack mostly pining, rock song cover band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annasotropy/pseuds/annasotropy
Summary: All of Luke's best guitar moments are ruined by the sound of the fake chainsaw from the adjacent house.Allof them. So when he's assigned that same area for the later security shift he's covering for a friend, Luke makes it his mission to find (and yell at) this actor.That is, of course, until said actor removes his mask.or: the dinluke rock cover band / haunted house actor au. :)
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: take me down to the paradise haunted house [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178618
Comments: 40
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimers! the only research/effort i put into making this reasonable was listening to local radio and visiting ‘field of screams’ in lancaster, pa over a year ago. i had mononucleosis at the time and the band playing featured some guy in a chewbacca onesie. they sounded great. but my memory is clouded. when something sounds weird or unreasonable it probably is. thank you to the mandalorian and my overactive brain for the gift of this idea. enjoy!

“Hey,” the man says as he finishes the riff, tilting his head to the left and gently rolling his opposite shoulder. The Lightsaber moves with it, the hum of amplified vibrations moving out of the speakers, back through the beaten ground, and up the rickety stage back to his feet. “You called?”

“Stop being dramatic and get your ass down here,” yells the woman in white. “Han’s called you five times already. Antilles called out sick and security wants you to cover the back end of his shift. Are you in?”

He flicks a few switches off and rests the guitar down before leaping off the high stage. Landing gracefully a few feet away from the woman, he shrugs, saying, “Sure, why not. I owe Wedge anyways. After the set, yeah?”

She nods, “After the set. You drove yourself?”

Smiling, he replies, “Is my name Luke Skywalker?”

The woman gives him the once-over, then rolls her eyes. “At least you already look the part,” she remarks, gesturing at his all-black ensemble, complete with a long robe that rustles  _ beautifully  _ in the wind. 

“Only the best for the Jedi Temple Rebels,” he replies, twisting back and forth a bit to show it off. Almost lost in the feeling of it, he grins, then takes a quick breath to compose himself. “Where’d you say they want me to check in, again?” The woman smirks, pointing at a booth across the common area. Luke rolls on his heels, bouncing forward just a little, waving jokingly as he goes. “Thanks, Leia! See you tonight!”

“If you’re late, we’ll kill ya,” she yells after him.

“I’d like to see you try!”

Though he’s already halfway across the walkway, Luke can still hear his sister’s sigh.

⸻

_ You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Again? _

Nothing to do but play on, Luke scowls, and pours his very  _ soul  _ into the melody. If that goddamned chainsaw guy was going to chase people during only and everysingle high point of every single song, Luke would just have to overpower him. The whole ordeal was a pain, though; he and Leia usually had such good luck with their music. 

Not tonight. From the moment he hit the first note to their last song’s bridge, every single musical moment in the Jedi Temple Rebels’ set has been drowned out by the sound of a de-chained chainsaw and laughter-filled screams. Which, if he’s being honest, is an objective good for everyone involved, because a good experience means good reviews for Hutt’s Haunts and good reviews mean more visitors and more security for this extra stream of income. 

What’s odd, though, is the uncanny timing of this interruption. The chainsaw exists to scare patrons out of the Screams of Scariff maze, and the actor using it often chases them past the bandstand, so the sound itself is a known variable. And, honestly, the presence of Luke’s band is far from the main attraction. Tonight, though, it’s almost too coincidental. The chainsaw seems to run closer to them during all and only the best parts of each song, almost as if the actor is listening and waiting for Luke’s musical _moments_ to give the job his all.

That isn’t it, though. Right?

The set finishes in a similar way to how it began: with a moving audience, dim cheers, and screams from the other spooky attractions. The smell of diesel has coated Luke’s nose and tongue. Han scowls from the keyboard; Leia beams as she strums a few parting notes on her bass. Whoever is holding that goddamned fake chainsaw runs around at totally random intervals and doesn’t come nearly as close to the stage.

Luke spends his break walking the Lightsaber back to his car, which is a hassle and he’s concerned about how cold the night’s become, but at least he’s given the time to calm down and regroup.  _ It’s just a chainsaw,  _ he thinks,  _ you’re the one who signed yourself up for the haunted house gig. This is in the job description. _

For the rest of the night, security has him watching the same area he’d been playing in—the pathways between Screams of Scariff and the Den of Doom, with the bandstand and piped-in music playing too loudly in his ears. Every so often, the actor with the chainsaw sprints by, sending patrons screaming back into the main courtyard. Luke doesn’t blame them. The man’s figure is clearly strong and intimidating.

He lets his annoyance fester into anger when he realizes that the man really  _ had  _ been choosing his best moments to really rev the chainsaw. The Jedi Temple Rebels couldn’t possibly be that bad.

An hour later, a younger child doesn’t run out laugh-screaming from the Scariff maze. She backs quickly into the flimsy fence just outside the exit door and howls, loud sobs making her gasp for air, and yells that she doesn’t want to die. Before Luke can get there the man with the chainsaw has shut it down, placed it on the ground, and taken off his mask, placing everything scary away from him and kneeling to look the child in the eyes with arms raised above his head in surrender.

“I’m sorry,” Luke hears him say. The girl gulps but stops crying. Luke hangs back for the moment. “I’m just an actor,” he tells her. “There’s no chain on this saw. I can’t and won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“Why not?” the girl cries.

“I have a kid about your age,” the chainsaw guy tells her. “If anyone hurt him at a place like this, I’d burn the whole thing down.”

The girl giggles. “That’s kinda scary.”

“Happy Halloween,” the man says softly, and Luke can see him smile. He pulls a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and hands it to the girl. “Go find your parents and get a snack, okay? Use this and it’ll be free.”

“Thank you!” the girl shouts, skipping away to where her parents are worriedly rushing over.

The man stays on the ground for a minute, then stands and takes his mask in hand. Before putting it on, however, he scans the walkway until he’s staring right at Luke, and nods once. The mask goes on quickly and the chainsaw is revved and just like that it’s Halloween again.

Turns out, this chainsaw asshole is hot.

Fuck.

_ ⸻ _

> **Wedge:** Hey, can I ask a favor?   
>  **Wedge:** This fever’s destroying me. I can’t make it to work this weekend.   
>  **Wedge:** Can you cover for me?
> 
> **Luke:** Yeah, of course   
>  **Luke:** Just send me your schedule? JTR only played Thurs so I can do both nights
> 
> **Wedge:** Shit, no I’m not gonna take up your free weekend   
>  **Wedge:** Thanks anyways Luke
> 
> **Luke:** No! I’m happy to I swear   
>  **Luke:** Making money and making friends   
>  **Luke:** You pick up the tab next time we go out?
> 
> **Wedge:** You’re a lifesaver.
> 
> **Luke:** So I’m told   
>  **Luke:** Get well soon!

⸻

It’s been a dry week and Luke is beginning to think his all-black ensemble was a grave mistake. The entire attraction is slotted neatly between three large farms and occupies much of the land of the fourth, and the owners hadn’t seen the need to pave a square inch of it for parking. When he’d first visited the park he didn’t even consider it—why would they need to pave a lot when the ground was right there anyways?—but tonight his dramatic outfit was growing dusty in the wind and ensuring that his laundry would be muddy in the morning.

Walking through the back employee entrance, he’s surprised to see a man kneeling just outside the gates, talking softly to a toddler. He can’t see anyone’s faces clearly in the dim orange glow of the streetlight—they really needed to replace that bulb before it blew—but love and care are written into every fiber of the man’s body language. He’s got one hand on the kid’s shoulder and one hand rustling their hair, and seems to make easy eye contact whenever he talks, only broken when he glances up to the other adult present. She’s an apparently strong woman with short hair cut bluntly and her presence only confuses Luke more, but 

Then the man stands again, and smiles at the woman, and turns just enough for Luke to see his face, and ah. It’s  _ him.  _

“Your son?” Luke asks as he approaches the dispersing group a minute later. He pulls the gate open for the stranger and, really, it’s remarkable he hasn’t lost his cool yet, considering how dramatically bad he usually is at meeting new people. He’s dressed more casually than most of the actors, likely thanks to the mask, but there’s still fake blood dripping down his forehead and crusting into his hair and the collar of his dirtied flannel. They make brief eye contact—the man’s eyes are dark, Luke discovers, and accentuated by dark makeup smudged beneath—but his expression remains neutral. It feels like something clicking into place.  _ Is this kinda…?  _ Now that’s a thought he doesn’t want to explore right now.

“Yeah,” the man replies, and fuck it if he doesn’t  _ sound  _ pretty, too. “They decided to stop by and say hello on the way home.”

Luke chuckles. “On the way?” he asks, following him through the entryway, “I always thought this was the kinda place you go to specifically. Kinda remote to be a coincidental stop, yeah?”

He’s rewarded with a sideways glare and a dismissive wave over the shoulder. “Sometimes,” he replies coolly, turning to walk quickly away. “Bye, Jedi. Nice cape,” he says.

“My name’s Luke,” Luke responds.

“I know,” his new acquaintance yells back. Interesting.

Over the loudspeakers, tonight’s guest band finishes their soundcheck and plays the first, loud, confident note of their opener. Luke can’t help but smile. This whole Halloween thing might have been a better idea than he anticipated.

Assuming, that is, that he hasn’t made an irredeemable ass of himself already.

Checking on that can be step one.

⸻

After the longest Saturday Luke has ever known, he pulls into Tosche Station for gas and caffeine. There are a few other people he recognizes from Hutt’s Haunts which is entirely expected, and he waves at them when they see each other. What he isn’t anticipating, however, is colliding head-on with chainsaw man, who catches and stabilizes him with seemingly practiced ease. When he’s able to reign in his surprise and shock, he manages several ‘sorry’s and steps back towards the potato chips to maintain a more appropriate distance. Neither of them immediately move, so he shrugs.

“I’m Luke,” Luke says.

“I got that,” the man replies, “from the band.”

“Oh, you really did know about us then?” Luke laughs. “Right. The things we do in high school, huh? Guess it stuck.”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t move, though, so Luke tries again: “Can I get  _ your  _ name?”

The man blinks, then tilts his head as if in contemplation. Crossing his arms across his chest, he shifts his weight and says, “You can get my coffee.”

Luke shrugs. “Yeah, sure, so long as you join me after.” He points to the metal picnic tables just beyond the doors. “I was gonna sit over there anyways.”

The man nods his agreement and hovers as Luke pours two cups of the probably-stale coffee. Luke gives him a pointed look, nudging his head towards the door, and walks to the cashier; he walks outside and sits with his back against the table, arms crossed. It’s early yet, and still late September, so there are plenty of activities the teen on his phone could be on his way to, but instead she’s just arguing (about, from what Luke can hear,  _ why the fuck they didn’t all drive together, we took one wrong turn and we’re in the middle of Bantha country,  _ but he’s not about to intervene). Overall it’s a mixed ambiance sort of evening. Perfect time to befriend a walking mystery, he supposes.

Though the man hasn’t told him, Luke hazards a guess at how he takes it: “Black?” he offers once he’s paid, handing over the cup. His companion’s eyes widen in surprise, but he accepts it, leaving Luke to slide onto the bench next to him. Luke smirks and indulges in his own drink, which includes too much of both cream and sugar. 

“How’d you know?” the man asks.

“A feeling,” Luke replies. “I’m good with those.” No reply, so Luke continues: “Hey, sorry about what I said last night. It’s really lovely your family is able to visit you. My sister and I live far enough away for getting to work to be a hassle, but I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“That’s considerate of you,” his companion says, sipping the coffee. He nods minutely. “Not bad tonight. I’m gonna need this. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

As they sip their drinks in silence, Luke begins to regret his positioning. Right now, he’s on the same bench as the stranger, but with his legs tucked under the table, so they’re nearly back-to-back. Which would be fine, really, if the sun wasn’t beginning to set, laying beautiful shadows and golden light across the trees just beyond the man’s head. 

“Nice sunset,” Luke tries. 

The man nods. “Reminds me of being a kid,” he replies. “Are you from around here?”

Really, the answer is ‘sort-of,’ but he doubts either of them are looking for that kind of conversation, so he settles for “Yes.” A sunray catches the man’s face, sparkling in his eyes. He’s got a 5-o’clock shadow. It’s not Luke’s fault for looking if he’s in the way. “Are you?”

“No,” he says, “But my kid is, so we moved back.”

“That’s nice.”

“Anything for him,” he says, voice softening just slightly. “Do you have kids?”

“None of my own,” Luke replies, “But I have a young nephew nearby.”

He chuckles. “They call you Uncle Luke?” he asks, turning his head slightly to look Luke in the eye. “It suits you.”

“And what can I call you?” Luke asks again, swirling the sludge that’s sunk to the bottom of the now-empty cup, but still looking at the other man. “You know, next time I see you and need to say hello. ‘Hey, Man’? ‘Dude’?” Studying the ever-unreadable expression in front of him, Luke frowns. “Brother?”

“My name is Din,” he replies. “You can call me that.”

Luke smiles. “It suits you.”

“I should hope so.”

“And if we’re in front of strangers we might see again?” At this, Din’s brow furrows, and he turns his whole head to watch Luke. It would seem his guess was correct: the less his workmates knew about him, the better. “What do your work friends call you?”

_ “We’re  _ work friends,” Din says. Luke gives him a knowing look, and Din sighs. “Mando.”

“‘Mando?’” Luke likes it—nice and boring, but unique enough to get his attention. He can’t help but tease, though, so he presses on with, “Did you get tired of people calling you ‘Man’ after all?”

Din glares. Luke shrugs. “To each his own,” he says, standing. “Have a nice shift, Din.”

“You too, uh…” Din looks to the sky, as if searching for answers in the stars, “Jedi.”

“‘Jedi,’ huh? That’s new,” Luke chuckles, starting towards his car. “See ‘ya tonight, Mando.”

Okay, so maybe an ass, but not irredeemable. Good to know. 

⸻

“My car broke down,” Din says next Friday night, apropos of nothing. He hasn’t even stopped walking yet, so the exchange is taking place in an almost-yell. “I don’t know if it’s out of your way, but—”

“Yeah, I can drive you home,” Luke calls back in reply, turning back to the game he’d been in the middle of. The worker gives him a knowing smile, then steps back as Luke tosses all three rings, one after another, and lands them on the bottle caps with a soft  _ clink, clink, clink. _

“What the fuck?” Din asks from right behind him. 

“It’s a gift,” Luke tells him, “Skywalker magic or something. Thanks, Snap.” Snap shoos them away.

When they walk away from the booth, Din’s face only grows more confused, and the third time Luke catches Din’s gaze drifting to the game he can’t help but laugh. “I can teach you, if you’d like,” he offers, “but I feel like that’s not a pressing issue at the moment. You need a ride tonight?”

“I don’t know many people here,” Din responds. “I need to go home to my son.”

Luke puts a hand on Din’s shoulder. “It’s no problem, really,” he says. “You’re here until close, right? Do you have a way to get back here tomorrow?”

Din sighs. “...No,” he admits. 

Luke laughs. “Well, listen, do you have anywhere to be during the day tomorrow? I can pick you up early, we’ll go to Tosche Station for makeshift dinner, and you can be there when Triple A arrives.”

They’ve made it across the courtyard to the bandstand at this point, so Luke pauses to look at Din. He’s confused and frowning, but not upset.

“You’d do that?” he asks. “You barely know me. You don’t know where I live.”

Rolling his eyes, Luke hoists himself onto the stand. “Well, you’ll have to tell me that part,” he replies. “But yeah, I would. You’re nice enough, and I don’t mind helping a friend in need.”

“We’re friends now,” Din says, but Luke knows it’s probably more of a question than he’s letting on.

“Yeah, Din,” he replies, fishing his phone out of a jacket pocket and tossing it to Din. “As long as you give me your number instead of vaguely planning to meet me at Tosche like the dumbasses we are. I know,” he interrupts when Din shifts as if to speak, “But I’m not calling us dumb by a long shot. Dumbass is fundamentally different.”

“Sure,” Din replies, and enters his number anyways.

As it turns out, driving Din home  _ is  _ an inconvenience and a hassle, though Luke wouldn’t dare tell him that. They both live in the purely residential blocks that dot the countryside, but Din lives on one side of Hutt’s Haunts and Luke lives on the other, with miles of farm and dark winding roads between them. 

In all honesty, it could be a lot worse. Din could have stayed silent the entire ride, or hated every song on Luke’s playlist, or complained about his driving style. Instead, Luke is treated to anxious humming—the man does have a child to get home to—and light conversation. It’s nothing like driving with Han and Leia and the change is more than welcome.

“What’s your son’s name?” Luke asks, following fifteen minutes of anxious chatter about the boy’s preschool achievements and searching for schools.

“Grogu,” Din supplies. 

“That’s certainly an interesting name. Does it come from your family?” Luke keeps his eyes squarely on the road.

“No, he came with it.”

Luke frowns. “‘Came with’ a name? What, like a doll?”

“No, like an adoption process,” Din growls and suddenly Luke understands. 

“Ah,” Luke says. “You’re afraid that he feels like you’re abandoning him.” It comes out as more of a statement than he’d meant it to, but Din doesn’t reply anyways. “Din, you’re not a bad father for picking up an extra job. Didn’t you say this gig was to pay for school and Christmas presents?”

“Something like that,” Din replies. 

“You’re not a bad father,” Luke says, “Trust me.”

Din  _ really  _ doesn’t have a response for that, but Luke isn’t about to dive into his own family history here in the middle of rural Tatooine, so they just drive. After a few minutes Din pulls the sun visor down and quickly checks his reflection in the mirror, wiping any last hints of blood or violence from his face. When he’s finished it closes heavily with the  _ thunk  _ of magnets and the  _ click  _ of everything securing and then Din takes a deep breath:

“Thank you, Luke.”

“You’re welcome, Din.”

And then, when the cornfields fall away to residential streets, Din says “the next street on the left is mine” and Luke pulls up as instructed in front of a small, grey house with lights on in all the windows. 

Din points to the leftmost window on the second floor, where Luke can see action figures and stuffed animals lined up on the windowsill. 

“He puts them up every night to say ‘hi’ when I get home,” he explains. 

Luke chuckles. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing wrong?”

When he stands, the woman from the other night opens the front door. She’s in more casual clothes tonight, but her stance is just as intimidating and powerful. A young boy’s head pokes out from behind her leg, and the rest of him runs out to Din a second later; the man scoops his son into his arms and yells his genuine thanks to the woman.

“Do you want to come inside?” Din asks, turning back to the car. The woman is already humming her way back in the house, and Grogu is pulling Din’s ear, and Luke smiles (a little sadly) at the perfect family.

“Not tonight,” he answers. “Go be with your son.”

Din nods, and ruffles Grogu’s hair. “Thanks again, Luke,” he says.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke replies, plugging his own address into the GPS.

He doesn’t put in a CD on the way back. He still isn’t quite sure why.

⸻

“I don’t mean to pry, but that woman seemed to really love Grogu. Are you two…”

“No, we aren’t married.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not her type,” Din says, and Luke can’t help but laugh and hope it doesn’t sound too relieved. 

“Her loss,” Luke shrugs, leaning against the side of Din’s now-functional car. 

“Or my gain,” Din replies. 

It takes every ounce of energy Luke’s stolen from his drink to keep the sounds of his choking under control.

⸻

They fall into something of a routine. On the nights that Jedi Temple Rebels is scheduled to play at the park, Luke leaves work at 4, drives home to change into his jacket and boots and…  _ cloak…  _ and makes his way to Tosche Station for coffee and stale cookies with perpetual mystery Din Djarin.

The man is often waiting when Luke gets there, but Luke still buys the coffee. In exchange, Din tells stories of his past—a commodity Luke has realized is worth a fortune—and tunes Luke’s Lightsaber, claiming he’d had some job as an instrumental repairman and that he ‘knew guitars better than they know themselves.’

Honestly, he might be right.

Luke trails behind the Razor Crest to Hutt’s and they park side-by-side far enough away from the entrance to finish their coffees. They part ways at the employee entrance and Luke joins the rest of the Rebels on stage for tuning and sound check.

Eventually, the chainsaw noises become more random.

Once, Luke manages an entire set where it feels like everything  _ except  _ his best moments are drowned out in screams.

When the band leaves, Luke glances over to the “Screams of Scariff” attraction. The chainsaw always turns on, held high into the air, in parting. The guests, who know nothing of their rel— _ friendship,  _ scream good-naturedly as he chases them past him and up to the main courtyard. 

Luke grins the whole way back to his car.

⸻

Luke’s last note rings out across the courtyard. Han moves behind the keyboard to stand next to his wife, and Leia yells,

“Thanks for listening! We’re Jedi Temple Rebels, have a great evening, and happy Halloween!”

A chainsaw revs encouragingly from the next attraction over.

⸻

> **Din** : Running late, can’t meet before work   
>  **Din** : We had an accident in class   
>  **Din** : Talk later?   
>  **Din** : Sorry
> 
> **Luke** : No worries, are you okay?   
>  **Luke** : Wait, class? You teach?   
>  **Luke** : Never mind ignore these   
>  **Luke** : Seriously, you’re fine right   
>  **Luke** : Din  
>  **Luke:** ?????????
> 
> **Din** : Luke.
> 
> **Luke** : Right.

“You’re welcome to train at my gym, you know,” Din offers later that night. “We’re running a beginner’s session now to get new people excited about Mandalorian crossfit.”

“A gym, huh?” Luke asks. “So what was the accident? Someone dropped a weight on their foot?”

“We work on strength to teach people how to fight,” Din tells him. “There was more blood than usual.”

“I see,” Luke says, even though he doesn’t. “That sounds interesting,” he says, even though he doesn’t see it that way. “I’d love to come,” he says, coming nowhere close to a lie.

“A Jedi Mandalorian,” Din muses. “Should be interesting.”

⸻

Their coffee excursions grow more casual as the season goes on.

“Will you play me something?” Din asks. They’re at Tosche Station, but there’s a spot of rain. As neither of them were particularly ready to get wet before it became necessary, they settled into the front seats of Luke’s car. Luke knows he’d be lying if he said being so close to Din didn’t excite him, but he’s more concerned about if he’s lying by  _ not  _ saying anything to fully comprehend the question.

“Of course,” he replies, already setting down his drink to reach for Lightsaber on the seat behind him without spilling. “What do you want to hear?”

“I—” Din pauses, then sighs. “I don’t actually know. Something that you wouldn’t play onstage. You know how that stuff makes me feel.”

Luke smiles, and tests out a few notes. “Do you know ‘Ramblin’ Man?’” he asks. Din shakes his head. “It’s by the Allman Brothers. I think you’d like it. It’s not quite like the songs Jedi Temple Rebels covers.”

“Would Grogu like it?”

Luke smiles, strumming the first few notes. “Yeah,” he says. “He would.”

_ Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man…. _

⸻

Once, when they decide to take their coffee to the park, Din says, “I don’t think I’ve met anyone that intimidating before.”

He’s talking about the Dark Troopers, of course. They’re the band that the Jedi Temple Rebels defeated in the impromptu “battle” the night before, and they walked onto the stage in entirely black outfits, hats, sharp eyeliner, and face masks, and put on a set composed mostly of loud Metallica covers. Luke admired their dedication to the theme, and they were talented musicians, but not much of a threat. So he laughs, and replies, “Just wait until you meet my sister.”

Din frowns, twirling his coffee. “What is she, a cop or something?”

Luke smirks. “Worse. Our bassist.”

Visibly surprised, Din turns to scan the common area, but Luke already knows it’s too densely packed to do any good. “I’ll introduce you next time we’re all together,” he promises. “She’s nice, I swear. You’re the one with the chainsaw.”

“Fucking Skywalkers,” Din mutters, taking another slow sip of his coffee. “So did your whole family get the rock gene or something? Are you all related to one another? Is this a Brady Bunch situation or what?”

Luke laughs before he can consider that the question might be genuine. Does Din really not know who the Skywalkers are? 

“You could say that,” he replies.

“Are they all like you?”

“Musically? Yes. Otherwise, not so much. Leia and I look like our dad and act like our mom. She was always the calm one. Our dad was—”  _ Brutal. Dark. Violent. Addicted to drugs and fame and fortune. Fiercely loyal. Very helpful with math homework. A musical genius.  _ “—intense.”

Din chortles. “Now that’s a show I’d like to see.”

“Someday,” Luke says. “Someday.”

⸻

“Want to get food after class?” Din asks one night as Luke is two-thirds of the way through his set.

“If it’s greasy,” Luke manages, lifting again.

“Tacos,” Din replies. “You’re driving.”

“Yeah,” he says, giving up. He drops the weight safely to the floor. “Hey, when are you gonna drive me anywhere?”

“That’s what you get for always bragging about your ‘talents behind the wheel,’” Din quips, turning his air quotes into a wave.

Luke rolls his eyes. Someday he’ll make it into the Razor Crest, he’s certain of it. But he  _ is  _ a good driver. The X-Wing will do.

Forty-five minutes later, a sweaty Luke pulls the car door closed with a slam and looks to his right. Din’s responding to texts, but Luke doesn’t really mind. The car starts with a louder grumble than usual but stays smooth once she’s on. Din’s phone clicks off. Luke pulls out of the parking space.

“If you hate rock so much, what do you play at the gym? Do you just turn on the pop hits station and roll with it, always, forever?”

“Kind of.”

“Why aren’t there any ads?”

“We made our own mix.”

“We? Who’s we? I need context.”

“A friend of mine made it. Remixed some of the tracks, too. His name’s Fett.”

_ “Boba  _ Fett??”

“Yeah, why? You know him?”

“How the fuck do you know Boba Fett? We thought he disappeared years ago!”

“Who’s  _ your  _ we?”

Luke shrugs. “Mainly Han, but Leia and I were there too.”

“He had a rival gym that got shut down for some bullshit reason, so he started training with us. Brought along this friend of his. Soon enough she caught wind of a whole store chain going under and they just took over. Honestly, I didn’t even know he was qualified.

“He’s got connections.”

“Sure.” Din is silent. Luke shrugs. “Okay, we both know Boba Fett, whatever.” He drums his fingers against the wheel. “I’m dying to know. Are these like… dubstep remixes?”

“I will  _ end  _ you, Luke.”

“I’m just curious about your day-to-day life! And I’m sure Grogu is the perfect demo audience.” He grins. “Does he ever sing along? You know, when you play  _ intense  _ Taylor Swift or whatever?”

_ “Death,”  _ Din warns again. Luke laughs.

“Death,” he agrees.”

“So how did you end up a security guard that night?” Din asks later, swallowing a bite of his food. Luke frowns. “Music career not working out? It’s okay, I won’t judge,” Din says, flat and cool, “Rock is dead anyway. Very virtuous of you to keep trying.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaims, “like hell you don’t judge. Rock’s not dead, it’s evolving.”

“Taylor Swift would disagree,” Din replies, resting his elbow on the table. “And who are we to disagree with Taylor Swift?” He raises his eyebrows tauntingly, expression otherwise unreadable, and rests his cheek in his palm.

Sighing, Luke looks to the ceiling, trying desperately to see who above was testing him, but also trying to reign in his delight at how this conversation has changed. When nobody appears he brings his gaze back to Din, who is still staring at him, and Luke realizes this is the closest he’s ever come to making the man laugh. “It’s not dead,” he begins confidently, deciding to go all in. “It’s just evolved. The spirit of rock ‘n’ roll is very much alive.”

“I bet you think you’re the last true rock ‘n’ rollers and that your band is going to usher in a new age,” Din says.

Luke lets his grin fly loose with a trickle of gentle laughter, chuckling, “Yeah, we’re the last of the Jedi, and a force to be reckoned with. Almost time to pass the art down to the next generation.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Din asks, leaning forward a millimeter more as if he was genuinely interested. 

Luke sits back in his chair, crossing his arms and regarding Din carefully. He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I tell you my day job?”

Din scoffs. “What, starving artist?”

“No,” Luke says, “I’m the music teacher at the elementary school.”

Din straightens at that, pulling his hands back down to the table. “You are?” he asks, surprise evident in his tone.

“You’re the one doing  _ detailed research  _ on schools for your kid,” Luke replies, “You tell me.” Taking a final sip of his drink, he stands, picking up his empty plate and gesturing to Din’s. It’s pushed wordlessly towards him, though instead of thanks Luke just gets stared at. 

⸻

It’s three forty-five pm on Halloween when Luke collapses behind the wheel of his car, worn down from a long day at school. Hutt’s Haunts is open tonight, but Jedi Temple Rebels isn’t scheduled to play, so Luke pulls out his phone instead.

> **Luke:** Are you working tonight?   
>  **Luke:** I don’t think I ever asked.
> 
> **Din:** I took the night off to stay with Grogu   
>  **Din:** It’s our first Halloween together
> 
> **Luke:** That’s very special!
> 
> **Din:** Do you want to come over
> 
> **Luke:** Have fun with your family, Din
> 
> **Din:** I wouldn’t invite you if you weren’t welcome.
> 
> **Luke:** ...I’m On My Way!

“Shit,” Luke mutters, throwing the phone into the passenger seat lazily. “So enthusiastic.” He puts the key in the ignition but thinks twice before he can turn it.

> **Luke:** Are you allergic to dogs?   
>  **Luke:** I can keep him outside but he’s been alone all day
> 
> **Din:** You have a dog?
> 
> **Luke:** His name is R2D2
> 
> **Din:** Stupid name for a dog   
>  **Din:** We’re excited to meet him

Artoo is a white-and-grey Yorkie who Luke loves very much. The Skywalkers have always been a dog family, and Anakin had become attached to this specific breed early in his childhood, so there’s always been a Yorkie in their lives. He comes bounding to the front door when Luke unlocks it, and they quickly move to the backyard, where the pup runs and runs like there’s no tomorrow.

There is, of course, a tonight, and so eventually Luke calls him back inside and changes into a much more casual pair of black jeans and a t-shirt and the two of them scrounge around the kitchen for leftovers and something sweet for Grogu. 

“We’re out of everything, Artoo,” Luke mutters, mouth half-full of fried rice from a few nights back. 

He catches a glimpse of them in the storm door on their way out. Luke’s pulled on his black leather jacket and sneakers and understands how his whole persona could be confusing to an outsider. Artoo is practically screaming with excitement.

They stop at a bakery on the way over and Luke selects a small box of the most brightly-colored macarons he can find, hoping that even if they taste weird they’ll look exciting enough for Grogu’s taste. (He takes one for himself, though, and they don’t taste weird. They’re somehow cotton-candy flavored and sweet and the food coloring coats his tongue. Happy Halloween indeed.)

It’s just turned dark by the time the Skywalkers arrive at the Djarin residence, and Luke manages to catch Din and Grogu just after they return from their own trick-or-treating. 

“I love your costume,” Luke says, smiling at the child in his dinosaur onesie.

“Thanks,” Grogu replies, immediately ignoring him in favor of his dog.

Luke chuckles. “Tough crowd,” he tells Din. “This is R2D2, but I just call him Artoo. He’s very friendly.”

“Nice to meet you, Artoo,” Din says cordially. “Welcome to our home. I’m glad you could make it. I think he’ll have a better Halloween with more friendly faces around.”

“I’m certainly happy to be here,” Luke replies, “And you know my wardrobe is always ready for Halloween. Hey, I brought cookies for Grogu! I dropped them on the porch—”

“Oh, the blue ones? Thanks, he’ll love these—”

“It looks like he already is,” Luke laughs, gesturing to where the toddler is playing with Artoo, already covered in blue crumbs.

“Happy Halloween, kid,” Din mutters, chuckling as he grabs the bowl of candy and sits on the porch.

It’s a pretty standard Halloween. Luke acts surprised when the fifth Spider-Man comes along, and Din makes idle chatter about this and that, and Grogu finds all sorts of plants and things to try to feed Artoo, and eventually the swell of kids slows and the bottom of Din’s bowl is visible.

“Why do you dress like that, anyway?” Din asks, gesturing broadly to Luke’s outfit of the day. 

“What do you mean?” Luke asks in reply. “In black? Lots of people do that.”

Din sighs. “No, I meant your band. You always wear black, and your sister always wears white. The rest of them just wear whatever the hell they want from what I can tell. Is it some kind of schtick I’m missing?”

Luke frowns, considering the question. Nobody’s asked him before—but then again, most people who know the band like Din is beginning to also know of their parents. 

He thinks back to a childhood full of dressing rooms and photoshoots and nights at Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru’s house when the venues were too late or too loud for delicate ears. They were happy, sometimes, and every time he visits Ben, Luke comes face-to-face with magazine pages of his joyful twelve-year-old self days before it all went wrong. 

For as close as Luke and Leia had grown to be, they really were raised as only children of separate families. Luke remembers long, lonely nights at the farm, where he’d stare at the sunset so long it felt like there were too of them and just wait until it was cold and he could see the stars. Before the incident, Padme inisited that Luke and Leia only be separated when it was absolutely necessary, like when she and Anakin had to make appearances across the country. Afterwards, it was a matter of comfort and resources. Owen and Beru only had the money for one kid. Bail Organa couldn’t make time for two.

And it all made so much sense now, when Luke found the energy to think about it. The quiet house and the loud parties; the Whitesuns and the Organas; Padme’s bright white dress and Anakin’s pitch-black suit. He and Leia were just another dichotomy in the Skywalker line. Of course they’d grown to honor their parents in the only way they knew how.

But Din hates sap, and Luke doesn’t have the energy to parse it all out for him. 

“Do you really not know who I am?” he finally asks. He’s probably been too silent for too long.

“You’re Luke Skywalker,” Din replies.

“Yeah, but you never even googled my name?”

Din shrugs. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“My dad always wore black,” Luke says. “My Uncle Ben always says he turned to the Dark Side, but there was still good in him. It got worse when my mom died. She was the one who always wore white. The two of them were like destiny.” Luke sighs. “I’m serious. Look us up.”

The rest of Halloween night is… lighter, much to Luke’s relief. Grogu sheds his costume early on to go play with something shiny inside, leaving Din and Luke on the porch to hand out the rest of the candy. Artoo gnaws loudly at the rawhide bone Luke’s brought, but otherwise has sat calmly beside them.

“Thanks for the cookies,” Din says offhandedly in between a “happy halloween” and a “nice costume, kiddo.” “Grogu really loved them.”

“He’s feisty,” Luke replies. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Did you eat dinner?”

“Yeah,” Luke answers, just a touch too slowly.

“No, you didn’t,” Din corrects him. Luke rolls his eyes. “You like mac n cheese? That’s what I’m making for Grogu and I.”

“A festive color choice,” Luke points out. Artoo barks excitedly at the kid who gets the last candies. “I do.”

“Well come on, then.” Din holds the door open, allowing Luke and Artoo into the warm and bright interior of the home. He shrugs off his shoes and gestures with his head. “Kitchen’s this way.”

⸻

When Luke pulls into the parking lot on Friday the Razor Crest is already parked, and Din is sitting on it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, jumping away from the hood. He’s got two coffees in his hands, one extended like a peace offering. Luke accepts, raising an eyebrow in cautious surprise. The drink is thick and sweet, just how Luke likes it, though Luke isn’t sure how he knew.

“It was a long time ago,” Luke replies.

“That doesn’t really matter.”

⸻

On November 2nd, Luke refuses to sit at the picnic table out in the cold. They move into the Razor Crest instead, sitting in silence, watching the sun set between the McDonalds and the Lube ‘n Go.

“Last day of the season,” Din says at some point. “Are you nervous?”

Luke scoffs, choosing to take a bite of his slim jim rather than reward the question with a real answer. “Are  _ you?” _

“At this point,” Din replies, “it’ll be harder to not come in next Thursday than it is to come in today.”

“Exactly,” Luke responds.

The car falls silent again. Luke finishes his coffee. The sun falls further into the horizon and more store lights flicker on, bathing the entire neighborhood in splotches of orange, pink, electric blue, and the brightest white known to human eyeballs.

“I…” Din starts, glancing over at Luke. He swallows and closes his eyes, considering his next words. “I’m glad you’ll be Grogu’s music teacher,” he finally chooses. 

Luke meets his gaze carefully, and wills every blood vessel in his body to not reveal how much his heart rate increased after just those words. “How so?” he asks.

Din doesn’t move an inch. “You already know,” he says, and never has Luke been so pissed off by someone's ability to bluff.

“Well, I have some ideas,” Luke responds, “but those don’t do me much good unless I know they align with what you’re thinking, too.”

“It  _ means, _ ” Din says, voice so low and so thinly controlled, “that I won’t lose you when the job is done.”

Luke smirks and turns, twisting his spine painfully to rest his elbow on the center console. “Then I’m the luckiest elementary school music teacher around, aren’t I?”

⸻

> **Din:** Cara’s playing at Mos Eisley this Friday
> 
> **Luke:** Good for her?
> 
> **Din:** Will you be there?
> 
> **Luke:** Do you want me to be?
> 
> **Din:** I thought that was implied
> 
> **Luke:** What time is she starting
> 
> **Din:** 7   
>  **Din:** We can drive from my house, it’s closer   
>  **Din:** It’s a date
> 
> **Luke:** :)

⸻

“I thought you didn’t like rock music,” Luke says, leaning dangerously close into Din’s side.

“That’s not true,” Din replies, pulling his arm out from between them. Luke flinches, starting to move away, but Din loops his arm back around Luke’s shoulders and says, “I just didn’t like the Jedi.”

“And now?”

“You’re not so bad,” Din tells him, like it’s a confession of love.

( _ In some ways, _ Luke thinks,  _ it is. _ )

⸻

“That was nice,” Luke tells him several hours later, when they say goodbye to the woman Luke now knows as Din’s neighbor Cara Dune and walk back to the Razor Crest. “Good thing we’re still friends when it’s not Halloween, huh?”

Din stops calmly, and turns to consider Luke. He crosses his arms for good measure before asking, “Friends?”

“We are, aren’t we?” Luke replies. “I mean, we’re here.”

Din uncrosses his arms and flexes his hands nervously, clenching, releasing, clenching—Luke gulps—releasing—

—and moves closer, and grabs Luke’s cheek too nervously, and Luke’s understanding now. So he leans into Din’s touch, and he leans into  _ Din,  _ and pulls him even closer until Din’s eyes widen and shut and he’s kissing him.

“We don’t have to be friends,” Luke sighs a minute later, a little breathlessly, “But my car is broken, so I’d really like it if you could take me home.”

“Yeah, Luke, I can drive you home,” Din answers. Luke grins.

“Are you serious?” he  _ almost  _ whines, forcing his voice into the most jokey tone he can manage. “Thanks, Din, and you barely know me, too, this could be such an inconvenience, are you sure? I don’t want to be—”

“Shut up,” Din interrupts, kissing Luke squarely again. When they break to breathe, Din mutters, “you talk too much,” and takes control of Luke’s mouth before he can even think of a retort. Of all the strategies people have tried to quiet Luke with, this is definitely his favorite.

⸻

They collapse onto his bed.

_ Finally,  _ he thinks, and above him Din lets out a groan low and sweet, and Luke pulls his other hand up to trace the muscles in Din’s chest and back and ass and feel it  _ all _ , and the closeness of them being together like this, and the feeling of right seeping into the thick of his bones.

Were the pleasure to replace marrow Luke might have been light enough to fly, but  _ damn  _ is he glad he isn’t. He’s heavy enough to force Din onto his back and durable enough to be flung back onto his own. 

_ “You,”  _ Din growls. Luke flips him again.

“Me,” he agrees, pinning Din’s wrists to the mattress, using his precious weight to stall him as he dips low, low,  _ low— _

⸻

“So how the fuck did you become a security guard?” Din asks later, rolling away from Luke onto his back. When Luke doesn’t respond, Din pulls his arm, guiding him back gently to rest between his chest and his shoulder. “Did something bad happen? I won’t judge you, y’know.”

“Oh, I know that,” Luke says, “That’s not the reason I haven’t told you.”

“Brat,” Din replies, squeezing him closer. Luke laughs heartily, but still doesn’t respond. “Then why?”

“I’ve been waiting for the right moment,” he confesses. “It needs to have a certain impact.”

Din growls, though Luke expects he would angrily deny it: “Tell me.”

Sighing, Luke frees himself from Din’s grasp and props himself up on his own elbow. “The manager knew me from another job,” he says. Din scowls, opening his mouth to argue, but Luke holds up an aggressive finger to shut him up. “The other job,” he says slowly, trying and failing to keep a smirk off his face, “was being a mall cop.”

Din’s face falls completely blank as he stares at Luke. “Excuse me?”

Luke shrugs his free shoulder and gives Din the most taunting look he can muster. “Northeast Shopping Center security team, 2010 to 13,” he says. “I’ve still got the jacket.”

“You were a mall cop?” 

“It’s a perfectly respectable career.”

Din studies him, face still blank but with amusement clear in his eyes. “You’re Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight.”

Luke smiles, lowering himself back into Din. “I am now. Back then, I was Luke Skywalker,” he pauses for emphasis, “mall cop.”

Grumbling, Din asks, “Has anyone told you you’re hard to handle?”

“Ah, well, you know what they say about boys and things that come by the dozen.”

“Nothing but drugstore loving?”

Luke laughs, punching Din playfully in the side. “Hey, you  _ have  _ been listening to our sets! Pretty little thing, let me light your candle?”

“I wish I had that chainsaw,” Din laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title and quotes at the end come from the song "hard to handle," which i discovered through the superior cover by the black crowes, but the original by otis redding is equally excellent.
> 
> thank you to guitar hero world tour for the wii and my local classic rock radio stations for providing my writing soundtrack. and thank you to YOU for reading!!
> 
> much love,  
> anna "annasotropy" xoxo


	2. where we'll be in a year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops! i wrote a sappy epilogue. also i know nothing about children

On Thursday, August 25th, Luke Skywalker’s alarm goes off at 6am for the first time in months.

“Luke,” the mass of blankets and scruff pinning him down growls, “turn that damn thing off.”

“I’d love to,” Luke mutters, voice thick with phlegm, “if I wasn’t stuck underneath you.”

“Get your ass back to the gym, then,” the mass quips as it pulls itself off Luke’s torso. “You’re stronger than this.”

“Only in spirit, Mando,” Luke says, rolling over. He slams off the alarm and stands up; every joint in his body cracks as if to prove his point. Balancing a knee against the bed, Luke leans down to press a kiss to the forehead that’s become visible. “Don’t sleep too long. And you’d better show up today. No ‘forgetting’ like last time.”

“Last time?” 

“Goodnight,” Luke whisper-sings, throwing the blankets back over Din dramatically before walking to the bathroom.

The rest of the morning is quieter than Luke is used to, though he assumes that will change again when the school year gets back into full swing. He drinks iced coffee at the countertop and scrolls through his phone, chuckling at the photos Leia has sent of the piles and piles of baby things she’s accumulated over the past few weeks. 

_ Our house doesn’t even belong to us anymore,  _ she’d said last night,  _ this thing is still incubating and it’s already a hoarder. You’re lucky you got to skip the infant stage. _

And that was it, wasn’t it? In less than a year Luke had gone from hermit-like bachelor to primary caretaker of a five-year old. 

(When Din decided to do something, Luke had discovered, he went all in. As in, there was to be no whining, no second-guessing, and  _ no  _ years of hate-flirting with your hot uber-driver-turned-security-attaché, thank  _ god.  _ It was a simple life, and a straightforward one, and Luke liked it more and more each day.)

> **Luke:** At least he’ll be cute.
> 
> **Leia:** That’s the goal
> 
> **Luke:** Why are you awake?
> 
> **Leia:** Why are you awake?
> 
> **Luke:** Good point

Luke sighs and shuts the phone off before washing his glass in the sink. Just beyond the window, early-morning sunshine floods the backyard with warm light. There are dots moving across the faraway horizon--cows, grazing, like the whole world decided to get breakfast at the same time. Closing his eyes, Luke breathes deeply and feels the universe. The phone on the counter rumbles.

> **Leia:** Good luck with school

The wallpaper photo is, of course, the picture they took last month in the town square. Jedi Temple Rebels had played some softer songs as shopping music for the weekly farmer’s market, and Din had made some flimsy excuse to come.  _ Nobody needs to spend three hours choosing produce,  _ Luke argued.  _ We also need bread, _ Din explained. And when they were packing up, and the sun was bathing the world in honey-warm light, Leia had shoved them all together, and Din took Grogu onto his shoulders and wrapped an arm around Luke, and Luke pulled Lightsaber out of the way with one hand and supported Grogu with the other, and they laughed and laughed.

_ “You have a beautiful family,” a patron said to Din.  _

_ “I agree,” Din replied. _

Luke doesn’t need to reply.

He pulls out of the driveway earlier than he probably needs to, but it’s his first real commute to the school from Din’s house--their house--and what an embarrassment it would be if he showed up late on the _preview_ day, of all days.

Of course, he’s there too early, but it gives him time to eat the muffin he’s been saving and print more informational flyers and decorate the whiteboard with small happy doodles and music notes and the best damn handwriting he’s ever had to  _ WELCOME KINDERGARTENERS AND FAMILIES!  _ and breathe.

When people do start to arrive, tiny footsteps in the hallway relax Luke, and he smiles at the thinly-veiled anxiety hiding as excitement in parents’ voices. He’ll have a bit more time, of course, as he’ll meet everyone once they meet their main teachers, but--

_ “DAD!”  _ a tiny voice shouts from the hallway. It’s too familiar. Luke stands quickly, rushing to the door, but is caught stumbling backwards before he’s even halfway. The bundle of energy and arms that’s taken control of his legs in a hug is laughing now, and when Luke finally gets his bearings and looks down his eyes begin to water.

_ “Grogu,”  _ Din mutters, stomping into the room a half-second later. “Mr. Skywalker is at work, we can’t just--Luke? Luke, what’s wrong?”

Luke blinks out a tear and grins, glancing quickly from Grogu, to Din, to Grogu again. Giving a one-shouldered shrug, Luke gently moves Grogu’s arms so he can better reach the kid, and kneels down to ruffle his hair and hug him.

“See, Dad?” Luke says, looking at Din pointedly, “Kindergarten isn’t so scary.”

“Dad’s here!” Grogu says. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” Din asks cautiously. Luke rolls his eyes.

“Only if it’s a problem to you.”

Din smiles, then, saying a gruff “good,” and kneels down to separate Grogu from Luke. “We have to go find your classroom now, Grogu,” he says with a hand on the kid’s head. “We’ll come back to visit Luke later. Will you say goodbye to Mr. Skywalker?”

“Bye, Mr. Skywalker,” Grogu repeats.

“Bye, Dad,” Din says with a wink, and mouths, “I love you.”

“I know,” Luke replies, still grinning. “See you soon.”

This is  _ not  _ how Luke expected his life to go.

It had been an odd year.

What a goddamned Halloween miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "sweet emotion" by aerosmith but it's the sappy version that only i want to hear :)
> 
> i might write more stories in this universe simply because i want to. han and leia. obi wan kenobi. padme. etc. maybe jar jar binks will make an appearance idk yet. i have this chaotic desire to write a jar jar/c3po fic and this au might be perfect for it. we'll see. love you!


End file.
